


An Inevitable, Unhappy Ending

by SomeoneAsGoodAsYou (the_wanlorn)



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, also the title is a lie, jsyk, no actual smut, no reveal, set in some nebulous early s2 period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wanlorn/pseuds/SomeoneAsGoodAsYou
Summary: In which Lucifer is not in love, and Chloe is not going to let him break her heart.





	An Inevitable, Unhappy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Just fyi guys, it kinda squicks me when I read fic where Chloe bangs Lucifer without believing that he's the literal Devil, because it feels, to me, like he's lying to her about himself and that she'll be wicked upset when she finds out? So in case anyone else is weirdly squicked by it, here is your warning that I couldn't figure out how to slip a reveal into this fic, so all the banging happens without her knowing he's the literal, actual, Devil.

Lucifer was humming. It was an obnoxious habit, one that he'd never understood, and yet there he was. Humming as he made breakfast.

If this was what it felt like after one night of shagging the Detective, sign him up for a lifetime subscription.

He heard the shower turn on and smiled to himself, a little ruefully. There went his idea of surprising the Detective -- Chloe, he could call her Chloe now -- _Chloe_ with breakfast in bed. Then again, if she was awake this early, perhaps they would have time for another round of sex before she had to leave for work.

He found himself uncharacteristically willing to forego the opportunity for shower sex and left Chloe to her shower. He didn't want the crepes to burn, after all. And there would be plenty of time in the future for, well. Everything. He didn't feel the need to chase after every bit of pleasure their bodies could produce together, not when just existing in the same space as her made him feel this good.

The warmth of the pure joy in his heart could only be compared to the warmth of his Father's grace, back before everything went wrong. And that was something he did _not_ want to be thinking about and having ruin his good mood. Perhaps he could convince Chloe to take a day off work and spend it in bed with him... or, shockingly, not in bed, just with him. In any way she chose.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning."

He turned, grinning -- he couldn't help it -- and opened his mouth to greet her, but Chloe was already continuing on.

"I can't stay for breakfast," she said, her mouth twisted in an apologetic grimace and she paused, before adding, "But thank you, for last night."

Maybe her not staying for breakfast should have been the first hint that something was going wrong, but he was just too happy to do anything but brush it off as a "maybe next time" thing. Which was why the thank you was such a sucker punch.

Thank you, like he was just some... some cock she used to scratch an itch. Normally he would be all for that! Casual sex was his thing, after all!

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," she said, smiling at him like he'd made a particularly clever break in a case, "but you were right. We should've done that a long time ago."

"Ah, yes, Detective, about that-" But what was he supposed to say? That he thought that maybe they were something more? That this was the first time he wanted it to be something more and couldn't she see how much he wanted just _her_?

He came around the island, to stand in front of her, his mouth working but no sound coming out.

"Yeah, yeah," she patted his cheek briskly and turned away, throwing back over her shoulder. "You were great, best I've ever had, and now that we both have that out of our systems, can I count on there being less inappropriate come-ons?"

He nodded his head dumbly. He'd slept with plenty of women and men who treated him like a living sex doll. It was one of the perks of sleeping with him, after all. All your desires come true, no strings attached. It had never hurt before.

He turned to stare at the griddle. What the fuck just happened. It felt like his insides had been torn out and rearranged in some terrible configuration. This was not how this morning was supposed to go.

And the sodding crepes were burning.

* * *

He tried to forget about it. Clearly, him wanting this... this nebulous "more" with the Detective was a foolish whim. He didn't even know what "more" looked like, for crying out loud. The fact that she didn't want the same thing shouldn't make him feel like something was hollowed out and missing in his chest.

No, he was being ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with his chest -- it was a damn fine chest if he did say so himself -- and the fact that the Detective had left that morning like the night before hadn't mattered, well. That didn't bother him.

If he said it enough times, it might even become true.

Still, instead of going into the station that day, he decided that it was time to break out the best scotch he had and celebrate that he finally managed to have sex with the Detective. Admittedly, something twisted in his stomach at the thought, but no matter. The metaphorical notch to his bedpost was added and he could let go of this silly obsession.

The scotch tasted like ash in his mouth, an unpleasant sensation he associated with his eons in Hell. Something must have been wrong with that year. He set it aside and poured from a different bottle. Same result.

And oh, wasn't that a fitting reminder of his time below, the first centuries of which had been filled with a crushing despair not unlike what he was feeling now.

Maybe it was time to talk to Dr. Linda.

* * *

"So you slept together," Dr. Linda was saying as Lucifer nodded along, sprawled on the couch in her office, "and then she left? And now you... feel bad."

"Yes, exactly!" he said.

"Bad as in you regret having sex with her?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

The thought alone made him flinch back. "Of course not. It was quite possibly the best night of my life."

She nodded slowly, watching him in a way that made him want to squirm uncomfortably. He didn't, of course, he was above such things.

"Am I ill?" he asked when she didn't say anything for too long. "Did I catch some plague? Is that what this feeling is?"

"I suppose you could call it that," she said with a small smile. "It is sometimes referred to as an affliction, although I don't view it as such."

He frowned at her. Was she being purposefully vague? Was this one of those times she wanted him to come up with the answer himself? If she did, they'd be waiting for quite a while. It had been days -- days in which he hadn't seen the Detective at all -- and he still felt empty.

"What is?" he finally asked when she didn't elaborate.

"Being in love," she said gently. 

He shot to his feet, immediately stalking to the door and opening it. She had no idea what she was talking about. It wasn't possible. The Devil? Feel love? What a joke.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he told her in no uncertain terms. She just looked amused, further stoking his ire. "In fact, I think you should see a doctor yourself. Something is clearly wrong with your head."

"I don't think so," she said, still sitting in her chair and watching him with a piercing gaze. "I think you've loved Chloe for a long time, and you feel rejected because she doesn't want to move beyond friendship."

"Ridiculous," he said. "You're utterly mad. I'm the _Devil_. I don't feel love. The very idea is-" he paused, groping for the right word. "ridiculous," he finished weakly. He realized he was rubbing at his chest and dropped his hand, groaning as Dr. Linda's eyes followed it.

"Lucifer," she said, eyes flicking between him and the couch. He wasn't going to sit back down, no matter how she hinted. He was going to leave if she said one more word about- about that. "You clearly care very deeply for the Detective."

He took some time to absorb that, still hovering on the edge of fleeing for his own safety. It was true, he decided, he did care for her very much. But that didn't mean...

"Is it really such a stretch to believe you may be in love with her?"

And there it was. He was out of there.

"Yes," he snapped, following it up with a more calm, "I'll call you," and left.

* * *

Chloe sat in the driver's seat of her car, watching Lucifer out of the corner of her eye as he stared at the suspect's house. He was acting strangely. More strangely than usual, or maybe strange in a different way.

After almost a week of no contact, her calls going straight to voicemail and him mysteriously never home when she stopped by Lux, he had shown up at the station like nothing was wrong, telling her he'd had some business to take care of out of town.

It was the flimsiest excuse she'd ever heard, and if he'd regretted sleeping with her that much he could've just said it was a mistake and they could've moved on. He hadn't needed to hide from her to make sure she got the message. She knew going in that he only did casual; it wasn't like she was special.

And now, he was there but he wasn't _there_. At times he would feel so distant from her, as though he were on another plane of existence entirely. She kept having to squash the urge to do something, anything, to get him to really look at her.

If this kept up she was going to have to say something. Great. That was going to be so awkward.

"Is that him?" Lucifer asked, jolting her out of her thoughts.

She peered through the windshield at the man coming out of the house and getting into a car. She waited until he was a block away, then turned on her own car and cut into traffic to follow him. Lucifer was oddly silent next to her, like he had been for the past couple days, and it was grating on her nerves.

She almost opened her mouth to say something, to tell him it was okay, maybe, that he didn't need to worry about her throwing herself at him or something. That she understood sex with him was a one-time deal.

But, well. The thing was, she did "like-like" him, as Trixie would say. And as much as she was relieved he wasn't hitting on her at wildly inappropriate times anymore, she hadn't thought sleeping with him would result in this huge change in their friendship.

She _knew_ a relationship with him was a non-starter. She knew it didn't matter whether she wanted to date him or not, that the idea of Lucifer settling for any one person was ridiculous. She wasn't sitting there, pining after him like some romance novel heroine.

If this change between them didn't go away, if things didn't go back to how they used to be, she knew she'd have to talk to him about it, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

She glanced over at him, but he was looking out the window. Of course. He could barely stand to look at her now. Had it really been that bad? She thought he'd enjoyed himself, but... No. She didn't have the time to get all insecure about whether or not she was _good enough_ in bed. If he'd had any complaints, he didn't voice them, and that was good enough for her.

The suspect suddenly accelerated and took a sharp left. Shit, he must've noticed he was being tailed. She sped up and swung through a red light to follow him, pushing thoughts of Lucifer's strange behavior out of her mind. At least he wasn't avoiding her anymore. She'd have to be satisfied with that.

* * *

"It's not going away."

Lucifer strode into Dr. Linda's office, ignoring how she was in the middle of eating a sandwich, and flopped down on the couch.

Dr. Linda chewed slowly and swallowed before asking, "What's not going away?"

"This- This feeling!" he said, motioning to himself. "This feeling like something important has gone missing. It's quite distracting."

He scowled when she sighed at him. "Lucifer..."

"And don't start saying that I'm in- that I- Don't start with how I care deeply for Chloe and that's why I feel so wrong," he said before she could continue. "You're dead wrong about that, alright?"

She didn't respond, just took another bite of her sandwich and chewed it slowly while watching him.

As the moment of silence stretched out, he found himself growing increasingly uncomfortable. Damn her -- not literally -- for her ability to weaponize silence. She should need a permit for that.

"It's not that I don't... care for her," he finally said, just to be saying something. "But I certainly don't as deeply as you seem to be under the misapprehension that I do."

Another swallow. Another bite. Another silence that he was trying not to fill with chatter.

"Maybe..." he started and then stopped, collecting his scattered thoughts. He was almost getting used to the constant ache in his stomach, but this conversation was just making it worse. "Maybe this is just a... Maybe I'm getting _too_ attached. Is that possible?"

Dr. Linda finally put her sandwich down. "Does Chloe know that you want to date her?"

He recoiled. "What? I don't want to _date_ her, that's preposterous. The Devil doesn't date people. That's- That's a thing humans do. With other humans. I want..." he drifted off again, not sure what he wanted.

Was it that he wanted to date her? Had his fixation on having sex with her morphed into wanting to date her like he was human? Was that even possible?

He realized he was smiling a little as he thought about going to see a movie with her, or cooking her dinner, or any number of small things that humans did together.

Oh Dad, he _did_ want to date her.

When he looked up, Dr. Linda was still looking at him like she was waiting for an answer to something. He replayed the last few minutes in his memory, and realized that no, the Detective probably didn't know he wanted to date her, and maybe that was the problem.

"What do I do?" he asked plaintively.

Dr. Linda shrugged a little. "Ask her on a date. That's usually how people do it."

He blinked at her, before laughing a little and saying, "I can't just _ask her on a date_. What if she says no?"

"That's a risk everyone takes."

He sat back and thought about that for a moment. That would never do. She probably would say no, over and over again, if it was anything like how long it had taken him to convince her to have sex with him. And even that could be chalked up to just a moment of weakness on her part, poor thing hadn't had sex in months.

No, he had to be more subtle about it. So when he actually did ask, she'd definitely say yes. In fact, she'd be more likely to say yes if he proved he was good at dating beforehand. It didn't matter that he'd never done it before; how hard could it be? And, unlike with sex, he could definitively prove that he was good before ever asking her on an official date.

"So I just have to show her I'd be good at dating," he said aloud, still musing it through. "And then she'll be more than happy to date me?"

He jumped to his feet, Dr. Linda blinking at him, her mouth open to say something, but he rushed over her.

"Thank you, Doctor, that's exactly the advice I needed!"

As he left, he thought he saw her banging her head on the wooden surface of her desk.

* * *

He implemented his plan the very next morning. He knew the Detective wouldn't appreciate him making a scene in the station and had strange ideas about what "making a scene" consisted of. So instead, he waited until her car pulled in. As soon as she was out of the vehicle, he presented her with a lovely bouquet of spring flowers.

She took them automatically, but was eyeing them distrustfully. Before he could say anything, she looked between him and the flowers, and said, "Okay, what'd you do?"

"Do?" he asked, completely mystified. "I... brought you flowers."

"Yes," she said, "but why?"

He floundered, grasping for an explanation that didn't sound too pathetic to his ears. "I can't just give you flowers?"

He felt himself wilting under her gaze. They were flowers; he didn't have a secret meaning behind them (well, not much of one, at least), and women loved flowers. What was the problem here?

"No," she said, responding to his question. "The only person who would have gotten me flowers in the past- it doesn't matter how long. The only person was Dan, and even he only did that when he needed to apologize for something and was trying to soften me up."

"Well at least give me some credit as being better than the Douche," he said, only slightly snippy.

She looked exasperated, like she couldn't believe she was having to explain this to him. "Come on, Lucifer. What'd you do?"

"Nothing, Detective, I swear it," he said, looking away. This wasn't going at all how he'd planned. "They just made me think of you."

What was it about her that brought out a sappy side of him that he hadn't known existed until he met her?

She laughed a little, and he could feel something unpleasant turning over in his chest. That wasn't the reaction he was going for, not at all. It wasn't that he had expected her to fall all over him because he brought her flowers, but she could at least have shown some appreciation.

As if hearing his thoughts, she looked down at the bouquet cradled in her arms, and said, "They are beautiful." Then ruined it by looking up and saying, "You must've done something big. Who did you drive insane this time?"

"No one!" he huffed. "If you're not going to appreciate them I'll take them back and find someone who does."

"Oh no," she said, leaning back a little even though he'd made no move to do so. She smiled at him, a small, soft thing that had the unpleasant sensation in his chest easing a little. "They're mine now."

"Yes, well, that was the idea," he said. But if this was how giving her flowers went, he was going to cross that off the list. It wasn't endearing him to her, just making her suspicious.

He desperately hoped she didn't find out about the little visit he'd paid to the suspect they were about to get a call from. She'd think the flowers were because of that and not just because they reminded him of her.

The next item on his list didn't go any better. Chocolates were out, too. Apparently they were an apology item. Maybe buying her things wasn't the right idea? Maybe he needed to woo her with things he could do. Like cook dinner.

She didn't like it when he just showed up in her house, which, really, was quite unfair of her since whenever he did show up he only had the best intentions at heart. But no, if he wanted to show that he could be someone she would want to date, he needed to behave better. So no more breaking and entering. While she was home.

Asking her if he could cook her a dinner didn't go over any better than the flowers had.

"I don't have _time_ for dinner, Lucifer," she said as she looked up from her paperwork. The bags under her eyes were deep and she was looking harried.

"But you should take a break," he protested. "Come back and look at everything with a fresh mind tomorrow."

"I will take a break-" she said, and he brightened, "-when I pick up Trixie from her after-school program."

He grimaced. Right, the spawn. He supposed he could still impress the Detective with his cooking even with the little ankle-biter around, it just wouldn't lead to any more enjoyable activities.

"I'm sure you still need to eat," he said, wheedling. "You pick her up and I'll-"

"Not tonight," she said, more firmly. "I'm tired and just want to get Trixie and go home. To my quiet, empty house," she added before he could point out that she had a kitchen he could use.

"Tomorrow?" he asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully. The faster he showed that he could work hard at trying to make her happy, the sooner she would agree that yes, dating him was a brilliant idea.

"Drop it," she all but snapped.

He deflated, feeling himself almost physically sagging down. Why was this so hard? And, really, why did he care so much? If she was going to be so difficult about the whole thing, did he even really _want_ to see more of her?

One glance over at her reminded him that, yes, he did. It was inexplicable, how much time he wanted to spend with her. How he wanted to wake up to her in his bed every morning, to have her by his side at every moment of the day. It made no sense, but there it was.

Of course, how often did he get what he wanted? The thought nearly swept his legs from beneath him. This could be just another item in the long line of things in his life that dear old Dad had paraded in front of him only to snatch out of his grasp as soon as he reached for them.

The Detective must have seen something on his face, because she grimaced and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just been a long day."

"I understand," he said stiffly, ignoring the lead that settled in the bottom of his stomach. "I'll just leave you to it, then."

He turned and hurried out of the station, ignoring the exasperated "Lucifer!" that floated after him.

He found himself thinking that the third time was the charm, right? Buying her things didn't work, and clearly asking her if he could do things for her wasn't working. If the Detective wasn't going to take a break from her cases by herself, not even to eat a delicious meal he made, then he would trick her into taking a break. Which was why he was standing outside a movie theater, waiting for her to pull up.

"Well?" she said after putting the placard on her car that stopped her from being towed. "What do you have to show me?"

He turned slightly and gestured to the movie theater. "Take your pick."

She only narrowed her eyes at him. "What are we doing here, Lucifer. You said you had something to show me. I thought it had to do with one of our cases."

"Yes, well," he said, wiggling his hand back and forth in the air, "I may have misled you a small amount."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Lucifer..."

"Look," he said, taking her shoulders gently and spinning her a quarter turn to face the movie listings. "You need a break. A movie, some popcorn, three hours, tops, and you'll be back at your desk."

She breathed out a sigh and shrugged his hands off her shoulders, turning so quickly he took a step back. "I don't know what game you're playing-"

"No game, I assure you," he tried to interject, but she continued over him.

"-but I am not in the mood. I've got three open cases on my plate, no fresh clues, and the Lieutenant breathing down my neck. When I said I didn't have time for dinner last week, what about that made you think I would have time for a movie?"

"But that was last week!" he said. Why was she being so difficult about this? The cases they were on -- and of course he knew there were three open ones; he was at work with her whenever she went out to investigate one of them -- had all hit walls. There was nothing they could do except review evidence, and that was boring.

"Don't," she said, turning away from him and heading for her car. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you need to stop whatever it is. Okay?" Then she muttered, "If I'd known this is what sleeping with you would do, I never would have done it."

The bottom dropped out of his stomach.

"What," he said, not quite able to turn it into a question. She regretted it? How could she- he'd never-

She sighed and turned to him. "It was a mistake that I regret," she said. "You're all... weird now."

"Weird," he said, again not quite able to turn it into a question. He wasn't weird! Or, okay, yes he was a little weird, but not in a bad way. He was feeling strange, sure, but he hadn't meant to upset her, he just wanted her to... to pay attention to him. To see that he was worth more than what he could give her between the sheets. And oh, wasn't that a delicious irony.

His chest hurt, or maybe his stomach. He was definitely in some kind of pain. He thought he'd experienced a wide variety of physical pain while in the company of the Detective, but this was a new one, and he could swear it hurt worse than getting shot. It felt like something important was shriveling, like he was being mummified from the inside out.

"Don't you?" she asked.

"No," he said, curing the wobble in his voice. "How could I- You're- I mean-"

She sighed at his inability to form a complete sentence and turned away, back to her car, and for once he was grateful her attention wasn't on him. "Look, can we just... go back to the way things were?"

"Yes, of course," he forced out. "My mistake. I- Oh, look at the time, I promised- I need to go," he said, taking a step backward. She didn't glance back to him, just hummed a little in acknowledgment.

There was definitely something wrong with him. It was hard to breathe, and he was certain something was wrong with his heart. Surely distance from the Detective would make it better! Surely.

* * *

"I don't understand," he moaned as he flopped down on Dr. Linda's couch, sprawling across it like his bones were too tired to hold him up. If this pain didn't stop, he'd be forced to do something drastic.

"What don't you understand?" Dr. Linda asked, fiddling with her glasses and leaning back in her chair.

"Why this feeling won't go away," he said, closing his eyes, unable to bear to look at her. Unwilling to see the look of pity on her face.

"And what feeling would that be?" she asked, ever patient.

"I don't know!" He sat up, eyes flashing and glared at her. This was all her fault. If he had just ignored everything and let sex with the Detective be the end of things, they wouldn't be in this mess. He wouldn't be avoiding her because every time he saw her, he wouldn't feel like he was dying. He rubbed at his chest ineffectually. "It just... hurts. Am I dying?"

"I don't know," she said, quirking an eyebrow at him and not quailing under his glare. "Why don't you tell me what's going on."

Oh. Right. He hadn't been to seen her since the Detective... right. "I did what you said. I tried to show her that I could be someone worthy of her attentions-"

"I don't think that's what I told you to do," Dr. Linda said with a sigh, shaking her head a little when he just stared at her. "But go on."

"And she- She told me she regretted that we slept together," he finished, closing his eyes again as the pain seemed to overtake him, washing through him like the heat of Hell, leaving nothing but dryness and an intense ache in its wake.

Hell... that was why it wasn't safe to want things. What had _wanting_ ever gotten him? Sure, he was used to women and men falling over themselves to be with him for a night (or two), and of course there were the occasional who wanted more than just a night of passion, but that was sex. In all areas of his life -- in the important areas of his life -- he was used to not getting what he wanted.

The very first time he had dared to truly want anything, he had been cast from Heaven down into Hell.

"Oh, Lucifer," she said. "I think this feeling you're feeling is called heartbreak."

"It certainly feels like something is broken," he said. "How do I fix it? Usually it just takes a few hours away from the Detectives side to mend any wound. Why is this one still-" he grimaced "-still hurting?"

"It's not something you can fix. When you're in love-"

"What?" he exclaimed. "In love? That's preposterous. The Devil doesn't fall in love. That's for humans and their mayfly lives. It's not something that happens to angels or devils."

He pushed the immediate thought of Maze and Amenadiel out of his mind. No, only dear old Dad's creations were given the capacity to love. It wasn't something that happened between angels, or demons, or any mixture thereof.

"Alright," Dr. Linda conceded. "Maybe not love. Maybe it's just a crush, an infatuation." He went to deny that either of those things were possible either, but she rolled right over him. "But rejection hurts. And she rejected you."

He flinched back from her words, even knowing they were true. Yes, she had rejected him. He had offered himself to her on a platter, and she had taken one look and said "no thank you." And instead of graciously accepting that she didn't want him, what had he done? Tried to change her mind in the most embarrassingly forward way possible.

It was remarkable that it had taken her so long to say anything. She wanted things to go back to normal. He wished he could say, even to himself, that he could do that. He wished that he would be able to just put their one night together into a box in his mind and let it gather dust. But he was pretty sure he couldn't.

He'd tried going to the station once, a few days after the Detective had... rejected him, as Dr. Linda put it, and couldn't make himself go in. He couldn't imagine seeing her and knowing that she didn't want him as anything more than a quick lay. He shouldn't have thought she would be different, would want more from him. It was his own foolishness that had him feeling like he was slowly cracking in half. He needed to get over her.

Dr. Linda was still talking -- something about recovering from rejection and moving on and love and all that poppycock -- but he stood anyway, causing her to quiet and look up at him.

"Thank you, dear doctor," he said, smiling down on her. "You have been a great help and I know just what I need to do."

He left her office, ignoring her cry of "wait!" and went to see who at Lux was in need of a good shagging. He just needed to forget what it was like having her in his bed, and he'd be over it. No more "heartbreak," as Dr. Linda had called it. No more feeling like his world had ended. Just himself, some other bodies, and pleasure all night long.

* * *

It wasn't working.

Apparently, "heartbreak" wasn't something that could be just fucked away. According to Dr. Linda, he had to give it time, that the pain would fade. That one day he'd be able to look back on sleeping with the Detective with fondness, and not feel like he was choking. That being in love -- still a preposterous notion -- would also fade into something more comfortable.

It was ridiculous to think of the Devil being in love. Ridiculous, and impossible. He was, after all -- fallen or not -- an archangel, and archangels hadn't been designed with the ability to feel love beyond their devotion to God. And that _certainly_ wasn't love, not when it was something they had no choice over.

Of course, he wasn't supposed to have free will either, but he seemed to be doing pretty good on that front, so maybe-

No. He wasn't going down that path. There was nothing good at the end because, no matter how he felt, it was clear that Chloe could never feel the same. He wasn't someone that people _loved_. The closest he had to someone who could love him was Mazikeen, and he had created her to be devoted to him. In some ways, he wasn't any better than dear old Dad.

But that was something it was better to not think about. Besides, Maze had broken free of him, proven that her loyalty wasn't something he should have been taking for granted. She was her own person now, and he was glad for her; as painful as it was to admit, she deserved better than what he could give her. If they couldn't -- wouldn't -- go back to Hell, then she had the right to try to make a life here on Earth.

The elevator dinged and he quickly shut off the movie he had been staring at for the past hour, cursing under his breath. He thought he had locked it, to stop Chloe from dropping by and trying to have an awkward conversation with him again. The only people who had a key were him and Maze.

" _What_ is _that_."

Ah, speak of, well, himself. He turned to see Maze staring at the screen, which had paused on a mid-distance shot of two people kissing. He snatched up the remote and turned off the display.

"Research," he said.

"Research?" Her eyebrows were climbing to her hairline. "I wasn't aware you needed to brush up on that area of study. I could always give you a few pointers," she added as she sauntered toward him, looking around. He was suddenly conscious of the number of empty alcohol bottles that littered the surfaces of his flat. Drinking to numb the pain hadn't been working either, but it didn't stop him from trying.

He realized she had reached the edge of the sofa and was staring at him expectantly. "Sorry, darling, I missed that. What did you say?"

"I said, Chloe and Linda are worried about you." She took another look around, grimacing. "You need to get over whatever shit you're pulling. I'm tired of being the go-between."

How dare she accuse him of "pulling shit" when he hadn't seen her since before he slept with the Detective. She had no idea what she was talking about. He rose from the sofa, looming over her. "Don't test my temper, Mazikeen. I guarantee you won't like what you find."

Something dark and hungry glimmered in her eyes, and for a second, he thought she was going to push. Instead, the glimmer died and she turned away. "Whatever my lord and master desires. Brood for the next thousand centuries for all I care, I just thought you might want to know that they're worried." Her eyes widened for a moment, and she said, "Did you ask Chloe on a date and she shot you down? Is that why you're moping around here like someone took your favorite toy away?"

"Of course not," he snapped. "The Devil doesn't date and the Devil doesn't fall in love. What is wrong with the lot of you?"

"Methinks the Devil doth protest too much," Maze muttered

He ached to ask about the Detective, wanted to make sure she was doing alright. But Maze wasn't the sort to just answer, and he'd been dealt enough humiliation lately to last for a good while. Instead, he prodded her about Dr. Linda, a safe topic.

"It sounds like you and the good doctor have become close friends, if she's confessing her worries to you," he said, rocking onto his heel so he wasn't looming quite so much anymore and Maze didn't have to look quite so far up at him.

She looked away, something that was almost a smile flitting across her features before she turned her gaze back to him. "We've gone on a few dates."

Something sharp clenched in his chest and all he could do was sputter, "What? Why? How?" After a second of consideration, he repeated, " _How_?"

Maze stared at him like he was mad. "I... asked her on a date. Like a normal person. Ugh, what is wrong with you? I delivered the message; I'm out of here." She turned on her heels and headed for the elevator.

"You're a demon! You're not normal people!" Lucifer yelled after her, rooted to the spot in shock but indignant at her ability to just _ask someone on a date_ and have it work. "Get back here and tell me how you did it."

She just waggled her fingers at him, turning in the elevator to face him with a shit-eating grin on her face. He maintained furious eye contact with her as the doors slid closed, but she never said a word.

He stood, considering his next move. He could go track her down and force her to tell him how she convinced Dr. Linda that dating would be a good idea. He could go track down the Detective and-

No, that was right out. The very idea of seeing her after being so thoroughly rejected had him breaking out in a cold sweat. He was sure that, given time, he could repair their friendship, but at the moment, he just couldn't face the thought of seeing her. He couldn't face the thought of being able to see in her eyes that fucking him was a mistake. He could do without the reminder, thank you very much.

Instead, he turned the TV back on and resumed the romcom he had been watching. It was like pressing on a bruise, seeing fictional people happy together when he was not. His research, involving a series of romcoms and romances that mostly had him cringing at the behavior of the men in them, suggested that pursuing the Detective was the right thing to do, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when she so clearly didn't want him.

He didn't think it was something he could change her mind about through persistence. No, he would respect her desires. For once, they were as clear to him as though his powers worked on her. She didn't want anything to do with him in a carnal sense, or in a romantic sense. He could only hope that this... infatuation would pass now that he wasn't seeing her on an almost daily basis.

And still, he kept circling back around to the idea Dr. Linda had implanted in his head about him being in love. If the romances were accurate, then no, he wasn't in love. There was too much selfishness involved in being in love to compare to the feeling she had for the Detective. He wanted to give her everything, to make her every desire come true, even if that desire was for him to leave her alone. Even if that desire was for things to go back to the way they used to be. Which things would, eventually, once he no longer felt this throbbing pain whenever he thought of her or caught a glimpse of her in the crowd at Lux, looking for him presumably.

If this pain came from love, he wanted no part of the emotion.

It was hours later, nearing midnight, before he couldn't take wallowing anymore. Perhaps a walk would clear his head sufficiently that he could think of something besides the feel of the Detective under him, besides falling asleep next to her and waking like the world was new and he was seeing it for the first time. She brought light to his life, shining it in shadows he hadn't even known were there. How could he not feel this way about her? How could he not want to be by her side every waking moment?

Yes, some air, that would clear his head.

There was a pho shop three blocks down. Perhaps he would wander that way and see what the special was tonight. He set off at a brisk pace, the crowds on the street parting and flowing around him as he walked. A police car siren whooped once behind him, but he didn't give it any thought -- he didn't know the night shift as well as he knew those the Detective worked with -- until a familiar voice called his name.

"I'm sorry, Detective," he said without slowing. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm quite busy at the moment. Perhaps another time?"

"Oh for God's sake," she said, instantly making him more cross.

"Please don't bring Him into this," he said, crossing the street in front of her car. He raised a hand at the car coming the other way as it slowed, thanking it for not running him over.

"We need to talk," she called across the street, and he had to force down a smile at how stubborn she was being.

"We most certainly do not. You made your position very clear the other night." He shoved his hands in his pockets and started to walk faster.

"I swear I will arrest you if that's what it takes to make you talk to me," she said, and he turned back to her, smug.

"For what? You'll find I-"

"Jaywalking," she said decisively, getting out of the car. "Hands behind your back."

"Come now, Detective, isn't this a bit much?" He took a step back, ready to resume walking, but she did something and he found himself pressed against the brick of the building next to them. Oh. She was serious.

She snapped the cuffs onto his wrists, but they were loose enough he could probably just slip his hands out of them without bothering to unlock them. She bundled him right into the back of the car, not bothering to read him his rights, then got in and pulled away from the curb. When he caught her eye in the mirror, he realized she was fuming. Neither of them said anything for the entire drive back to the precinct.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked as she led him to one of the interrogation rooms and took off the cuffs. He absently rubbed at his wrists, even though they didn't hurt, and took a seat. At the moment, at least, he was willing to hear her out, maybe even apologize for making her uncomfortable. But she wasn't saying anything, just staring at him. Normally he would preen under her gaze, but with the knowledge that she really wasn't interested in him, it just seemed pathetic. Instead, he met her gaze evenly until she answered.

"It wouldn't have been necessary if you just hadn't locked your damned elevator so I couldn't see you."

Her flinch when he said, "I didn't want to see you," almost had him taking back the words. Almost. But Dr. Linda said it was important to state his own desires, and while that wasn't the whole truth, it was close enough to it that it wasn't a lie, and that was what was important.

"Why?" she asked, coming to sit across from him. "I mean- We're friends, Lucifer, you can tell me."

He scoffed at that. Friends? Yes, maybe that was what they were once and maybe that was what they would be heading toward again in the future. But in the present? Not so much.

"What does _that_ mean?" she said about the scoff, eyes wide and hurt. He never meant to hurt her, so he rushed to explain, possibly ineloquently.

"It means, darling, that I just need some time for my broken heart to mend itself. I just need time to get over you and then-"

But she was already laughing, a quiet little chuckle. "Everyone knows you don't have a heart, Lucifer. What's really going on."

He stared. How- How _dare_ she? How could she not know how much he felt for her? How could she not know how much he wanted to keep her safe and happy, how much he _loved_ her?

Apparently that was a thing now. The Devil was in love. He could've done without the revelation, truth be told, because it only made her words hurt more. "I promised I would never lie to you. I _have never_ lied to you."

"Yes, but-" she started, but broke off, eyes wide and shining.

He shouldn't be surprised. Of course she didn't think he had a heart. No one thought the Devil had a heart, no one took the time to concern themselves with the idea that he might have feelings. That not everything flowed off of him like water off an angel's wings. He had just hoped...

That was the problem with hope. It was foolish, and he should have known better than to think the Detective was different.

"If we're done here," he said, standing and going to the door. The lock slid free allowing him to pull it open and escape through the station and out into the night. The Detective didn't follow.

* * *

"Enough of this."

Lucifer didn't look up from the piano keys, where he was picking out a tune that just wouldn't leave his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Maze."

"The moping. Enough." His fingers stilled as she came closer. "Look, I don't know what Decker said to you, since neither of you will talk about it, and I'm sick of trying to do this emotions thing. So get your head out of your ass and fix whatever it is."

"Would that it were something that can be fixed so easily," he murmured, still watching the keys rather than her.

"Yeah, yeah," Maze said. "Look, she's going to be here in half an hour. You're going to talk like adults, nobody is going to insult each other, and you're going to stop moping and she's going to stop making vague pissy comments about you mocking her feelings. Ugh."

"Me _what_?" he said, his head snapping up. "I would _never_ -"

"Uh huh, tell it to her, not me. I'm done. It has been a _very_ long two days, Lucifer. Do not make me come back here."

With that, she stalked off, letting the club's door slam closed behind her.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he did need to talk to the Detective. Two days was nothing, compared to the previous couple weeks, but there was something about the way they left things that didn't sit right with him, beyond the ache of her rejection and callousness. And what was this about him mocking her? He had done no such thing.

He picked up his phone, fiddled with it for a moment before pulling up the Detective's number. His finger hovered over the call button. He could call her. He missed her. No matter the hurtful things she said, he missed being at her side, a constant shadow. He missed teasing her, drawing smiles out of her that were more important to him than Lux itself, more thrilling than feeling the ground rush toward him during a steep dive back when he had wings. Back when he-

He viciously threw his phone across the room, feeling a hollow satisfaction in watching it shatter to pieces against the wall.

Back when he thought he could _want_ without everything turning to ash.

* * *

Chloe hesitated at the elevator doors. She needed to talk to Lucifer, she knew that. She couldn't stand the way they'd left things the other day, with him storming out after her needling him the way she always did. She hadn't meant to hurt him, not really, and she needed to apologize.

And she needed an apology from him. She tried so hard not to wear her heart on her sleeve, to make sure Lucifer never knew how much she wanted from him. She was certain that, if he did, he would run in the opposite direction, and she couldn't take that. The past few weeks were proof that she couldn't take that; if she got any more snappish she was going to end up destroying what relationship she'd managed to build up with her coworkers. Even her friends were starting to lose their patience with her, if Maze was any indication.

She squared her shoulders and stepped into the elevator. She could do this. She would apologize for her comment about him not having a heart, he would apologize for making fun of her feelings for him, and things would go back to normal with a minimum of awkwardness. That was all she wanted, for thing to go back to normal. She missed him, more than she thought possible. She hadn't noticed what a constant presence he was beside her until he was gone. She hadn't realized how much she _liked_ having him a constant presence.

As the doors slid open to reveal the penthouse, she could hear Lucifer picking out a simple melody on his piano. It was familiar, and after a moment she managed to place it, and found herself smiling.

"Really?" she asked, stepping into the room. "Moulin Rouge? She dies at the end, you know."

His eyes cut to her and away, something dark settling over his features. "Yes, well."

An uneasy silence fell over them, tension growing the longer it lasted. After a long moment of indecision, she came and sat on the piano bench next to him, not quite able to stop herself from leaning into his side a little. He was stiff against her, unyielding and uncomfortable. His hands stilled on the keys before he removed them entirely, clasping them in his lap.

"I'm sorry," she said, running a finger over a key but not pressing down. "I shouldn't have said you had no feelings. We both know that's not true, and I was only teasing."

He huffed out a breath. "I suppose there are worse things to be accused of, Detective."

"Still," she said. "Will you forgive me?"

"Of course," he said, but his heart didn't sound in it. "The past is the past, after all."

She turned, angling her body so she could look at him. He didn't turn to meet her gaze, keeping his eyes on his hands in his lap. They were clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.

She gently placed a hand over his. "Lucifer," she said, waiting until he glanced over at her. "Can we just... put this all behind us? For real? I miss my partner." She smiled, feeling it waver when he didn't say anything immediately.

"I suppose..." he started, before drifting off, looking down at their hands. She waited him out. "I suppose I have been a bit... distant, lately."

"So we're good?" she asked, with a gentle squeeze.

"I..." He slowly unclenched his hands and turned one over until their fingers were interlaced. She had to carefully control her breathing, to not let it speed up and not let it show how much she wanted him in that moment. Wanted to hug him until he stopped looking so lost, wanted to kiss him back to earth, wanted to lay his body back and worship him.

She waited until the silence grew too nerve-wracking, then prompted him with, "You what?"

"Nothing, Detective," he said. _Finally_ meeting her eyes for more than a few seconds. She smiled in relief. They were going to be okay.

"I don't know about you," she said, "but I could use a drink."

"Of course," he said, letting go of her hand and standing. For a brief moment, she let herself imagine that she could catch his hand and pull him back to her. But it was just a passing fantasy, and soon he was across the room, pouring out a finger of scotch for each of them.

He leaned against the bar, one elbow bracing himself on the wood while he sipped at the scotch. She came to stand next to him, taking the drink he handed her and taking a long sip. The tension was still in the air, thick and suffocating. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and leaned to the side bumping him with her shoulder.

"So," she said, remembering something she had been wanting to say to him for a while. "Did it hurt..." his gaze snapped to hers "when you fell from heaven?" she finished with a giggle that cut off abruptly as something like pain flashed through his eyes.

"Contrary to what people might say, I'm not that easy, Detective," he snapped, stepping away from her.

"No, that's not what I-" she protested, cursing herself, a suspicion growing in her.

"I have to admit, _Detective_ , if I had known you were going to..." he took a deep breath. "I don't mind when other people are using me for sex -- I quite enjoy it, to be frank -- however..."

Oh no. Oh no, he hadn't been making fun of her, had he. Oh no, if he really... If he wanted... Oh _no_. "I wasn't-"

"No thank you, I am not, in fact, interested in another hookup," he finished.

"Lucifer," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I wasn't angling for a hookup, I just thought it was funny. Because of your devil shtick. That's all."

"Well, for your information,' he said, "yes, it did hurt, quite a bit. And I don't like talking about it."

"Okay," she said. "Okay, that's fine. I'm sorry." Whatever his fall was a metaphor for had to have been incredibly painful, the way his jaw was clenched tight, his hands closed into fists at his side, drink forgotten on the bar, as he stared into the middle distance.

He didn't say anything more, so she slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away, reached for one of his hands. He flinched at the tentative brush of her pinky against his, and she could feel her eyes filling with tears.

"Was it true?" she asked, withdrawing. "What you said? About me breaking- breaking your heart?

If at all possible, he got stiffer, moving away from her and going around to the back of the bar with jolting steps, grabbing the scotch bottle and filling his glass.

"Yes," he said shortly before taking a long drink and refilling his glass again.

She gasped, bringing her hands to cover her mouth as tears threatened to fall. That had never been her intention. She _hated_ hurting him, and she had been doing just that for weeks, probably making it worse every time they saw each other, with her teasing.

"You can't control what you feel," he said, an infinite sadness in his voice. "I don't blame you, Detective. Like I said before, I just need time."

She moved then, stepping around the bar even as he stepped back, away from her. But she kept up her slow pursuit until he was backed against the bar, and she was directly in front of him. She reached up, a hand going to his stubbled cheek. For the briefest second he leaned into her touch, before jerking away.

"Don't," he said, his voice strangled. "I can't- _Please_."

"Do you know what I was thinking, that morning?" she asked him, keeping her voice gentle and soft as she let her hand drop. He shook his head after a moment, not looking at her. That was okay. "That I needed to leave before you told me to go. That I didn't know how I was going to get over you, but that hearing that I was just another notch on your bedpost directly from you would ruin me."

"You could _never_ be just a... a notch on my bedpost," he said, finally looking her in the eye with an intense stare. "Detective- Chloe, you mean everything to me. And-"

"I know," she said, reaching out again. There was a wonder in his eyes as her hand made contact with his cheek, as her thumb stroked along his cheekbone. "I know that now. And I'm sorry that I didn't see it before. That I kept trying to keep you at a distance."

The wonder was fading, and he said, "I'm truly sorry I made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention."

"No, Lucifer," she said, bringing her other hand to his other cheek before he could move away. "You're not listening. Sleeping with you was a lapse in judgment-" his eyes went dull and he tried to pull away, to get away from her, but she caught his hand before he could go far and pulled him back. " _Listen_. It was a lapse in my judgment because I knew I could never get over you. That I would be spending the rest of my life comparing every person I slept with to you. Every person I dated, _to you_. Because-" she said, her voice catching. She had to stop and take a breath, to shore up her nerves. "Because I love you. And I couldn't stand you rejecting me, so I rejected you first."

He was shaking his head, denying her words. But that didn't make them any less true. His eyes were flicking over her face, searching for something, and she hoped he found what he was looking for, or this was going to turn very awkward.

"I love you," she repeated. "And I knew you didn't love me, so I ran." She swallowed. "I ran and hoped things would go back to normal because- Because I couldn't stand to have you walk away from me."

* * *

Lucifer couldn't breathe. He kept waiting for the moment to break, for her to come to her senses and step away, for her to start to laugh or to say she was only joking or, or something.. But instead, she was watching him with nothing but truth in her gaze. Truth, compassion, and, dare he say it, love. Everything he didn't truly deserve.

"I-" he said, his voice nothing more than a croak. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and he wondered what she was thinking. What she was feeling. Was her heart beating in time with his? His wasn't a story that was supposed to have a happy ending, and yet.. even if she came to her senses in the next second, he'd still have the memory of her saying that she loved him -- him! -- for the rest of eternity. He'd still have that one moment of joy.

"Dan has Trixie tonight," she was saying, "so will you do me the honor of going to dinner with me? On a date."

His hand was shaking as he brought it to her cheek, to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. His body was full to bursting with an emotion so close to joy he could hardly tell the difference. Joy, and gratitude, and, yes, something that must be love.

"Yes," he said finally, and he saw her sigh with relief, as though she had been worried he'd say no. As though he _could_ say no. "Of course, anything for you."

She stood on tiptoe and drew him down, pressing an infinitely gentle kiss to his mouth. He could _feel_ it, feel her love for him in her kiss, and oh, that was what had made that night so much better. Every touch had been infused with this feeling. With love, for him.

She broke away before the kiss became heated, and he couldn't find it in himself to regret that for once. She loved him, and he, her. This was his happy ending.

"Anything," he repeated, watching her with wonder in his eyes as a soft smile spread across her face.

"I'm sorry," she said again, sadness crossing her features. "I never meant-"

"All in the past," he repeated. He couldn't help himself; he had to bend and kiss her once more. "I-" he said when they broke apart, but he couldn't force the next words to come. "I-"

"I know," she said, a giddy grin spreading across her features. "I know."

"Truly," he said, desperate for her to understand that he loved her beyond reason, beyond sanity.

"Truly," she said, reaching for him and pulling him into a tight hug, which he gladly returned. "I love you. And you love me. And we love each other."

He nodded into her hair, his throat tight, eyes burning. "I do," he said, "so very, very much."

He never wanted to let her go, and she seemed happy to oblige for the moment. She was shaking, or he was shaking enough to rattle both of them. It was probably the latter judging by how her arms tightened around him. He loved her with his entire being, with every fiber of his soul. It felt like being filled with a version of dear old Dad's grace that didn't come with so many strings attached. And he loved her all the more for it. How could he have not recognized this feeling? How could he have spent so long denying it?

He would be hers for as long as she would have him.

"Where should we go for dinner?" she asked, and he was grateful that she didn't let go.

"Anywhere," he said. "As long as it's with you."

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp this has been done for weeks and I finally edited it and posted it. Hope y'all enjoyed!


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